


the return siege.

by Pitseleh



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies), Mad Max: Fury Road
Genre: F/M, Hugs, POV Third Person, Panic Attacks, Post-Canon, Post-Film, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Trauma, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-31
Updated: 2015-06-01
Packaged: 2018-04-02 04:52:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4046749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pitseleh/pseuds/Pitseleh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>War returns to the Citadel, but not before Max does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. you're back.

A few days out, he starts to see the clues. A week out, they're everywhere, and by a week and a day, they're impossible to ignore. Max swears under his breath, because even alone quiet his in his nature, and he turns the car around. 

It takes him two weeks to return to the Citadel. It's changed. He can tell that before he even gets there, because no one tries to shoot at him on the way back. It used to be dangerous to get that close to anything with people in it. Now, not even the wretched, huddling masses on the ground seem to want to tear him apart. Well, not much.

Some clearly still live in the ground, or in disgusting hovels and lean-tos. Their eyes are brighter, though. Their hands are less outstretched; they don't twitch and grab at his belongings as he steps out of the car. They give him a wide berth, curious but afraid. They're more afraid than thirsty. That's a good sign, though he's not sure for who.

He holds up both hands. "Touch the car," he says, his voice straining with the effort of raising it, "and-" he makes a _kaboom_ noise. 

The mob takes a step back. As he walks away from his car, he sees them eyeing it, but they don't touch. The weighty calculation of risk leaves him to believe they have something to live for.

Max isn't sure how to get into the Citadel. Some bone-deep part of him, like a hungry dog that's been kicked too many times, doesn't want to at all. He remembers being dragged, fighting, screaming to escape--

" _Oh_! Your pain's been worse, Mrs Margarine? I'll see if we have any of those medicine plants for it."

Max hasn't heard the word 'margarine' in over twenty years, so that's got to be someone's name. More importantly, he hasn't heard that voice in weeks. He keeps walking toward it, and finds its source: Cheedo the Fragile is holding court among the wretched.

Cheedo doesn't look so fragile anymore, even though someone's weaved half-bloomed flowers into her hair. She's wearing a full shirt, for one, and her long and flowing dress is hitched up at the side by a gun holstered to her leg. Max wouldn't say she has the grit of Furiosa (or even Capable), but she no longer looks afraid, or even unsure. She seems comfortable in her surroundings.

That level of easy happiness makes Max want to slink away before he can ruin it, but Cheedo turns to spot him. Against all odds, she recognizes him.

"You!" She rushes forward. Max idly wonders if she remembers his name. "You came back! Capable said you wouldn't, but I _said_ you would, and here you are!"

She sounds... pleased to see him. That's interesting.

Cheedo stares, still smiling, waiting for a response that doesn't come. In the silence that begins to pool between them, Cheedo clearly begins to feel uncomfortable, and Max thinks, ah, there it is. That happiness and ease, disappearing with his presence. Rather than wilt and fall away, Cheedo compensates by talking to fill the quiet. "You probably want to see Furiosa, don't you? You spent a _lot_ of time with her. I don't think I talked to you _much_ the whole drive, but Toast _told_ me how you helped us, and I saw some of it, so c'mon, I'll take you to her! Furiosa, I mean, not Toast, she's busy training the War Pups."

Since Max _did_ come back to speak with Furiosa, he doesn't correct her. He lets himself be lead (she pulls on the sleeve of his jacket, and the wretched part like a sea before them) and listens to Cheedo's wellspring of information.

"We're thinking of melting the lift and carving stairs into the rock, so people can petition the Emperor-- that's what they call Furiosa now, but you can just call her Furiosa. But _Toast_ says we have to be careful what we put into the rock, because it might hurt the foundation?"

This is clearly an issue on which Cheedo finds herself lacking in information, because she looks back at Max with a questioning look. He can see how taking too much away from the base of the Citadel might make it unsafe to live in. He shrugs, noncommittal, and Cheedo, wanting to see it as an affirmative, takes it as such. She nods back, and her smile is bright and wide.

"Anyway, since then, we've been going up and down on little lifts, and taking petitioners up along the way. You don't have to petition the Emperor, of course, she'll see you privately."

Despite everything, a memory untouched for decades rises to the surface of Max's mind: _Teenage girls_ , the ones in coffee shops and record stores, gossiping and excitable and _happy_. He thought that race had gone extinct in the fires of war. It seems they live on in Cheedo, lucky enough to escape while she was young, strong enough to survive, and happy enough come back to a place where she could live fully realized.

So he lets himself be tugged onto a 'little lift', and Cheedo gives word for the boys above to begin pulling him upward. It takes him a moment to realize Cheedo isn't on the lift with him. She's standing down below, flowers in her hair, watching him rise. He doesn't speak, just looks out puzzled, and extends a hand in silent question.

"I can't go _up_!" She almost seems to be _giggling_ , but there isn't a touch of madness in it. When's the last time he heard pure happy laughter? He can't remember. Cheedo yell, "I'm not done down here for the day!"

Max realizes what she means. She has a _job_ , something to occupy her, something she takes pride in. It seems she's some kind of laison between the Citadel-dwellers and the wretched below. It's a worthy cause, and Cheedo is clever and friendly enough to make it work. Max only wonders why it's necessary. 

Then again, all the signs are there. The new rulers of the Citadel are caring for the wretched below. It seems like an impossible proposition, and yet it only deepens his regard for Furiosa. It's an act of kindness Max would never bother with, and yet Furiosa and her people have taken it on with both hands open. 

The lift clinks, clatters, and Max is in the Citadel. The last time he entered this place, he was in a burlap sack. A shiver nearly runs through him, but he long ago learned how to keep such things from rising to the surface.

At the top, a familiar woman is waiting for him. 

It's one of the surviving Vuvalini-- he thinks her name was Lola the Crowbar. She's sitting on a barrel, holding a half-eaten raw carrot in one hand and a spyglass in the other. She's been watching him, likely since he drove up. 

"Wondering when you'd come back."

Max shrugs.

"Likely you'll want to see our fearless Emperor, eh? Don't say that to her face, she hates that." Lola the Crowbar lets out a cackling laugh, and hands him the carrot she was holding. "Must be hungry. It's a wasteland out there." She laughs again.

The carrot disappears into Max's stomach before he's fully aware he was eating it. He does that a lot, and it's no longer really surprising. 

"To get to the Emperor's throne room--" Lola says it without any evident reverence, but the slightly mocking tone of her voice leads Max to believe that she may well be the only one. "--you take that tunnel there, and turn at the mural li'l Dag's painting in the rock. There's a long tunnel that way, goes on for a tick, and then things start getting all fancy? And there's your throne room. Furiosa'll be pleased as anything to see you. She hates meetings, and you'll get her right outta one."

It's odd to hear Furiosa spoken of in such a way, as though she were a little girl, but it's very likely Lola indeed knew her when she was a little girl. He wonders what level of violence is necessary before someone loses their childhood fondness for you. Whatever it is, Furiosa's yet to accomplish it in the eyes of Lola the Crowbar.

Max follows Lola's instructions, after giving her a slump-shouldered shrug in thanks for the carrot. To his (unexpected) disappointment, he doesn't find the Dag painting her mural. To his complete lack of surprise, the mural itself is a mess of shapes and color with no real sense of structure, organization, or narrative. It's beautiful.

Despite his instinct to flee, Max follows the sound of people, and finds a hazy room housing a small crowd. He can't see whoever's at its center, but it certainly _sounds_ like Furiosa. Rather than interrupt her, Max waits at the fringes, listening to the discussion. It's about how to build stairs into the rock, and if they should melt down the lifts _before_ or _after_ , and who will guard the entrances with all the War Boys dead? 

Max lets the sounds of argument lull him into a meditative state. It's not sleep-- he wouldn't be caught asleep in a room with so many people in it-- but it's something to rest his eyes and focus on his surroundings. The room, this apparent 'throne room', has a large sun roof cut into the ceiling to provide light in what was otherwise a very dark tunnel. There were columns and arches carved into the rock itself, many bearing the skull-and-wheel decoration of Immortan Joe. Max wonders how long it will take for them to carve that sigil out, and replace it with a flaming 'F', or whatever sign Furiosa will use to mark her rule.

An hour passes, and the crowd disperses. Max finally gets a good look at Furiosa, sitting on a resplendent throne with the top knocked off-- was it Joe's, and they broke it until it no longer bore the flaming skull? Or did they pull it, broken, from a junk heap?-- looking tired and displeased. There are no guards surrounding her, as he'd expect, but then, who would guard her? All the War Boys are rotting in a canyon.

If to emphasize this point, there's just a War Pup sitting at her feet, playing with some toy carved out of a block of wood. Once the crowd has left, Furiosa stands and nudges the War Pup-- apparently named Chatty Phil-- to get back to class. It's with a level of tenderness Max hasn't seen an adult treat a child with since--

He doesn't want to think about that.

To distract himself before the haunting begins again, Max steps out of the shadows. Perhaps he does it too quickly, or Furiosa wasn't expecting it, because she lunges at him and knocks him to the ground. This time, he doesn't fight back, and she quickly has him pinned to the ground. She's about to break his nose with her metal arm when she recognizes him.

"You're back."

That's the third time he's heard that today. He never thought his leaving would have such an effect on people. After the third time hearing it, Max realizes he's never responded to it. If he should respond to anyone, it's Furiosa. But he doesn't know what to say, so he just says why he came in the first place.

"Gas Town's revving up to attack. You gotta get prepared."


	2. it's not a serious meeting.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plans move forward. Capable remains capable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I'm intending on having every chapter focus on Max and another female character, if the plot will accommodate that. Next chapter will be Max and Furiosa. This one's Max and Capable.

Somehow, Max ends up walking through the interior of the Citadel with a War Pup squirming in his arms. The boy can't be more than four, but he's got enough with words for the both of them.

"You smell funny," Chatty Phil informs him. 

"So d'you." Max grumbles under his breath.

Furiosa walks ahead of them in long, purposeful strides. Like always, every movement she makes is carried out with a kind of harsh gracefulness. She knows exactly where she's going, and why she's going there. He can't imagine her ever aimlessly wandering through the desert. Furiosa is a woman of goals.

To get his attention, Chatty Phil smacks Max in the face. There's little strength behind his arm, and Max looks over to see a little lump in the boy's armpit. "Why you walk funny?" asks Phil. 

Max shrugs. The boy smacks him again. 

"Your leg's metal."

Max continues to ignore him, and he gets smacked again. 

"Is it all metal like Emperor Furiosa's arm?"

Max grunts. The boy groans, and begins flailing more, trying to escape Max's grasp. And then they turn the corner, and there's Capable, arms open to receive the boy. She laughs, and the boy laughs, and they embrace with pure common joy. 

Capable looks different, but it's not like Cheedo's change. While Cheedo has settled easily into the girl she never had the chance to be, Capable has made herself into a more fully realized version of the woman she already was. She seems stronger, physically more hardy, less pale and retiring. She's cut her hair short, presumably to keep it from being pulled into an engine. There's motor oil drawn on her cheek in a pattern Max doesn't quite catch before Chatty Phil reaches up and smudges it.

Capable's still wearing those goggles from the rig, but she's found herself a worn old army jacket as well. No longer covered in muslin and flowing silks, Capable is dressed like where the War Boys meet the Vuvalini, in rough-hewn fabrics that can withstand the sand and the dirt, or the interior of an engine. 

She's happy, and Max feels himself more at ease for the knowledge.

When Capable looks up to see him, she grins wider. "I'm glad you came back," she says, and her voice is soft with genuine kindness. "I wasn't sure you would."

Max shrugs. 

"I never got to thank you." She reaches out, and places a hand on his shoulder. 

Chatty Phil, bored with their reunion, points over Capable's shoulder. "She's _going_!"

Furiosa it seems has more important places to be. She strides away from them, disappearing into the darkness of a shadowed hall. Max can't walk that quickly without tiring himself out, so he trudges slowly alongside Capable and Chatty Phil. 

"Why did you come back?" Capable is pleasantly conversational, and she's clever enough to ask questions Max can't shrug away. Was she always like this, or did remaking the Citadel give her enough confidence to push forward indefinitely?

"Needed to talk to Furiosa," Max says.

Capable, surprisingly, doesn't ask what he apparently needed to say. Instead, she just asks, "will you be leaving again, now that you have?"

"Depends on her."

Capable says, "oh, of course," whatever that means. They walk into the hazy room before them. 

There's a table in the center of the room, carved into the rock of the Citadel. Around it sits the two remaining Vuvalini (Lola the Crowbar has another carrot to chew on, and next to her sits Wicked Mary, who seems to be carving a child's toy with a switchblade), two milking mothers, and Toast the Knowing. At the head of the table sits Furiosa, looking as severe and collected as ever.

Capable leaves his side, and sits down next to Toast. Suddenly, Max is standing alone before a panel of people calmly judging his worth. He suddenly feels very small. He makes sure none of this shows in his expression or bearing. His expression is dull; his posture is gently hunched. Better to look simple than scared.

Furiosa lifts her metal arm, pointing to him. He wants to go to her side, but he knows the gesture was one of attention, not beckoning. "Tell them what you told me."

"Hrmm," Max says. When's the last time he's been looked at by so many people at once? No, that's not a good thought. He starts talking, because that will take enough of his energy that he can stop thinking. "Gas town," he says. "Making itself a war party. Looks like they're planning an attack."

One of the milking mothers speaks up. Unsurprisingly, she turns to Furiosa. "Can you trust this man?"

Furiosa answers without hesitation. "Yes."

Max had expected that answer, but it's surprisingly nice to hear spoken aloud. 

The next few minutes are a blur of conversation, an activity Max has never had a great deal of enthusiasm for. He listens, and he speaks when he's asked. A rough consensus is made-- they need more information before a proper plan of attack can form.

"We don't have any scouts," says one of the milking mothers, a woman called Elainey Right-Hook. "You killed them all in the canyon."

"Joe killed them," Toast speaks up. She looks healthy like Capable does, though her happiness is less easy to spot. Toast the Knowing is wise beyond her years, and finds her pleasure in having a plan of attack. She isn't a nurturer like Capable, she's a retaliator. In a few years, she'd make a wonderful general.

Max wonders if Furiosa will allow such a thing.

"We have to send someone," Capable says. She's petting Chatty Phil's bald head; the boy's fallen asleep on her shoulder. "We can't prepare until we know what they're planning."

Max sees Furiosa looking straight at him, but she averts her gaze when he catches her eye. What does that mean? The subtleties of social contact have been lost to him for too long for simple hints to resonate.

"Maybe one of the sick War Boys is feeling up to it," says Wicked Mary. She doesn't seem to have much sympathy for men.

The other milking mother, called Baby Farouhk, seems to deal with the War Boys personally, because her immediate response is a resounding _no_. Capable confirms soon afterward. 

"Could we make a truce?" asked Lola the Crowbar. "That Old Joe had truces, the mad bastard." 

"It won't last long enough to be worth it," Toast mutters. "They'll want blood. Old Joe could keep 'em in place with fear." 

"We're not Old Joe."

"Exactly."

Through all of this, Furiosa speaks rarely. She listens, and nods, and disagrees. Slowly, it becomes obvious to Max that Furiosa isn't, truly, in charge. This is a council of elders. Furiosa is a public figurehead. 

After working under Joe for so long, that's likely the way she'd prefer it. Good for her, Max thinks, getting her own way.

It's then that Cheedo bursts in the room. "You started a meeting without me!"

"It's not a serious meeting, Cheedo," Capable pacifies. "We're trying to get enough information together to _have_ a serious meeting."

"Oh," Cheedo says, her sense of importance restored. "Well... that's fine, then." She sits down next to Capable. Toast rolls her eyes. Cheedo asks, "what's going on?"

"We need somebody to spy on Gas Town, Fragile," Toast mutters.

"Don't _call_ me that," Cheedo hisses, and then looks over to Max. "Why can't _he_ do it?"

To answer, Max shrugs. He remembers, before the wars, when he would have found such insipid behavior small-minded and annoying. Now, it's just refreshing to see such a thing can still exist. 

"We can't volunteer him for something like that," says Elainey.

"Then maybe we should stop talking about him like he's not here," Cheedo counters.

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Furiosa smile.

" _Well_?" asks Wicked Mary, and it occurs to Max that the entire room is staring at him. He's still standing at the end of the table-- should he have sat? What are the rules in this place?

"Sir," Capable says, and it occurs to Max that she doesn't know his name. How many people caught it, in the thunder and the fear? Could they hear it over the blood rushing in their ears, right at the end of things? Capable stands, still holding Chatty Phil, and looks at him with a placid, imploring expression. "Would you be our scout?"

He thinks he needs to reassess his estimation of Capable. She's kind, and gentle, and placid, and she used all of that to hold out a key and turn it in him like he was an engine. She, too, could someday be a general like Toast. 

"Yeah," he says. "Sure."


	3. a miracle.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Max heads out to do dangerous things, but not before he eats an apple whole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, the shippy shit arrives.

A few things are decided in quick succession. First, that Max will leave as soon as the sun sets, to take advantage of the coming darkness. Secondly, he will drive out on one of the few remaining bikes still in the Citadel's arsenal. Third, he'll have a convoy leaving with him, to serve as a distraction.

Max has little say in these decisions, but he offers a curt nod to each, and occasionally a small grunt of agreement. As far as he's concerned, it's as good as a signed contract. Max gives his word very, very rarely, enough so that when he does, he means it. He tries not to make any promises he can't keep.

(The ghosts behind his eyes mingle and flicker in the dark distance. He shakes his head, hoping to scatter them; now isn't the time.)

Eventually, the meeting is adjourned, and Max is released into the greater Citadel. He has an hour or so until sunset, and thus that much time to prepare. Max sets himself up with a mental list of objectives: get food, find his bike, and familiarize himself with it. He doesn't know the way to the garage, but he'd prefer not to ask anyone; he ends up following Furiosa on instinct.

She walks ahead of him through the tunnels of the Citadel. She's not much taller than him, but her strides are always longer and smoother; she's faster on her feet. After a few paces of silence, she looks back at him over her shoulder.

"I wasn't expecting to see you again."

He mutters something unintelligible even to himself. It doesn't really matter, does it? He gave no indication of planning to return, so that's understandable, but he did come back. 

"Do you need anything? We have plenty of food."

Max grunts an affirmative. 

"There's plenty in the garage," she says, confirming that's where she's leading him. It's relieving knowledge. "The boys will try to get you to eat the canned shit, but only because they're trying to get rid of it. It's really dog food."

Max nods. He remembers dogs.

"We have plenty to eat now that we can get into Joe's old stronghold. Turned out there was enough for everyone. More than enough."

Max hears himself ask, "And the seeds?"

"We just planted them," she says. "They'll need time." 

As nice as it is to hear her voice again (and with it, the confirmation that she yet lives), it's equally satisfying when things lapse into silence. Cheedo was disappointed, and perhaps many others would have been as well. But Furiosa knows her business, and Max can trust her not to leave any important information out.

He can tell they're nearing the garage before it's properly in sight. He knows his hearing isn't the world's best-- too many explosions in one fucking lifetime-- but he can feel it in the vibrations of the stone around him. The noise is next, a deafening whir of activity, even with their limited resources. And then the smell of human flesh pressed close together, sweat and excitement and engine grease mingling in a horrible dance. This is where they shaved his head, marked his back, tied him down and branded him like an animal. Was he an animal, then? He feels different, now, and he's not sure how.

Furiosa stops several paces ahead of him, and it's only then that Max realizes he's stopped walking. "What's wrong?"

How does she know something's wrong? Is it obvious? Where? On his face? What sign has he shown, and who's around to exploit it? Max turns his head to survey the area, watches the people around them, streaming in and out of the garage. None of them seem to be paying attention to him; he's safe for now.

In the time it takes to reassess his surroundings, Furiosa has walked nearer to him. He hadn't noticed-- stupid, _stupid_ \--

"Go back to the room we were in before," she says. "The meeting place. Do you remember the way?"

He nods mutely, and she turns away.

Max doesn't remember the walk back. He's got a good enough sense of direction to make the return journey on instinct alone. He focuses on the comfortable rhythm of his footfalls to ignore the thunder in his ears. His heart is beating too fast; he wishes he could slow it without dying. The dead bubble up before he can help it-- he can never help it, not really, just put it off-- and they whisper how he's failed them. He knows, he knows, but they never listen, they're never happy. You can't be happy when you're dead. You can't when you're alive, either.

The brand on the back of his neck burns like the setting sun.

Furiosa is in the room with him. When did she get here? Is she dead, too?

She's holding an apple. No, that doesn't make sense. She never held apples when she was alive.

"Fool," she says, and Max realizes no one here is dead; if she were dead, she'd call him 'Max'. The dead always do.

Max remembers where he is. He's sitting in the table of the meeting room. Furiosa is standing before him with a motorbike and few bags of supplies.

"Fool," she says, "do you want it or not?"

Max takes the apple.

Furiosa walks the motorbike to the table, and leaves it near Max to inspect. Eating seems to settle his mind-- he's alive, he's going to live, the dead flutter back into the shadows-- and he regains the focus he needs for the world around him. Furiosa's placed a bag of guns on the table, as well as a small box of fresh fruits and vegetables. It's a miracle of resources, spread out in front of him. Max feels absurdly grateful.

He taps the box of food.

"Joe's been-" Furiosa stops herself. "He had been growing them for ages. Cheedo's in charge of figuring out who needs what below."

Max looks up at her in question.

"We have enough to feed and water everyone," she says, gaze steady. There's something behind her eyes, but there always is. It's not Max's place to try and tease the truth out of her. She keeps her own councel. "If we're going to be in charge of this place, we're not going to run it like he did."

Max slowly nods his head, conceding her point. The apple has completely disappeared-- he vaguely remembers eating the core-- and he tentatively reaches forward, for the box of food. Furiosa doesn't stop him. He takes a carrot. That's two fresh carrots in one day, and it feels like a miracle.

Furiosa goes back to business. "Here are the guns I'd bring." The understanding between them is unspoken-- _If I'd take them, you'd take them, too_. She runs her hands over the weapons as she lays them out in front of him with a careful sort of reverence. "They're all fully loaded. You have some of our best firearms; be careful with them."

Max shakes his head-- he could die, it's not a worthwhile risk-- but she cuts him off. 

"You're doing us a greater favor than you know," she says. " _I'd_ be the fool if I didn't properly arm you."

For the first time since he met her, she's wrong about him; He knows just how much of a favor he's doing them. He's doing them the least he could do, considering what they deserve. He'll do anything to avoid her voice joining the chorus in his head, begging him, blaming him, and always screaming. It's why he came back in the first place, and it's why he's willing to risk his life for her again. His blood pumps in her heart. That has to mean something, or nothing means anything.

If nothing else, it means something to him.

She's looking at him, and an emotion is clearly flickering behind her eyes again. People like Cheedo and Capable, they're easy to read, they have little fear of their own hearts. Furiosa is like him, though; she knows the danger that comes with feeling. Again, he doesn't try to guess what she's thinking.

"I keep calling you 'Fool'," she says. "You told me your name, but..."

He understands immediately. "You were dying."

"I was."

A silence settles over them. He realizes that's his cue, and takes a step back despite himself. It isn't vulnerable like when they held him down and pushed up his shirt, or when the tied him down so they could cut off his hair. It's a different kind of smallness, and he hasn't felt it in a very long time. If there was ever a word for it, he's forgotten.

"My name is Max," he says. "That's my name."

She doesn't really smile, but something in her expression shifts. "It suits you."

"Yours suits you better."

Her brow furrows, and Max realizes she's trying to figure out if he meant that as a joke. He didn't, not really-- when was the last time he told a joke? When was the last time _he_ wasn't the joke?

It's a fair thing to wonder, though. He thinks if he could make jokes anymore, he'd make them around her.

There's a soft knocking at the door, and a War Boy enters after Furiosa barks a command across the room. He's maybe seventeen, and limping on a twisted leg. Furiosa addresses him only as 'Toolbag'.

"Your scouting party's all ready to leave, Emperor."

"Don't call me that."

"Sorry, sir."

Furiosa groans, and walks out of the room, still wheeling the bike along. Toolbag is sitting astride it, presumably trying to spare his leg the journey. It's a marked difference from the old rulers of this fortress; they would never have been caught dead showing kindness to another.

Max ambles behind them, and thinks of how _his_ leg always feels worse within the Citadel. It must be the water. If any place in the world is humid anymore, Max has managed to find it. Another miracle. Maybe more of a mixed blessing.

He watches Furiosa walk before him with a crippled boy resting his bald head on her arm. No, definitely a miracle.

Max doesn't notice how they avoid the garage until they already have. They're on a lift being lowered to the ground, and the people are still looking up expectantly. Furiosa sighs, and makes a dismissive gesture toward no one in particular, but after a moment he spots the girls up in the Citadel's grand balcony watching her through a spyglass. They make an announcement to the people below, clearly waiting for an explanation for this use of resources. 

"We are inspecting our remaining machines," comes Capable's voice, booming out of the speakers hidden in the rock. "Please be careful to stay out of the way."

The mob mutters, but it parts like a dirty ocean before them. 

Furiosa seems to be scowling more than usual. Max wonders how often Immortan Joe lied to the people below him.

Night is falling fast, and Furiosa walks out with the tiny scouting party. A few bikes (to make Max fit in, though theirs are louder, heavier) and two cars. It's nothing compared to what Furiosa must be used to, but Max doesn't think she misses war rigs.

"Your job is distraction," she says. She leads like a general. The people around them-- War Boys and wretched-- listen like she's a sunrise. "Don't make any unnecessary risks."

She looks Max straight in the eye when she says that. Max isn't sure why. He grunts a half-hearted assent. 

The drivers begin to prepare their equipment. They'll be driving off soon. Furiosa walks over to him, and places her hand on his shoulder. He's not sure what to do with that. "Mmh?"

She puts her hand on the back of his neck, and draws him close, until their foreheads are nearly touching. He gets it eventually, and completes the distance, so they're a closed circuit, standing together in the desert. He's not sure why she wants to do this, but he appreciates the gesture, and giving her this costs him nothing.

In the cool shadow of the setting sun, he feels very warm.

"Come back safe," she says. 

He doesn't know what to say to that, so he doesn't say anything. He can't even nod, for fear of bumping his brow into her eye.

"Good luck, Max."


End file.
